An appointment with Davy Jones
by Fyrie
Summary: Bootstrap Bill meets his untimely demise at Barabossa's hands


A bellow of fury rent the air, the final drawer of the cabin hurled against the wall, splintering with the force of Captain Barbossa's fury. Whirling around, his expression as black as thunder, he glared at the man pinioned by two of his crew.

The traitor.

Every one of the crew had been working together, in the wake of the discovery of the curse, trying their utmost to recollect all the pieces of the lost gold and they had all of them. All, but one.

"Where is it?"

Forced onto his knees, the pirate's gaze roamed the wreck of a cabin, little of which now resembled nothing but the ruins of a civilized accommodation, everything that could be broken smashed asunder.

Brilliantly bright daylight ebbed in through the portholes dotted along the walls, sending narrow beams of rocking light playing across the walls and the deck beneath their feet, painted with the warming colours of the impending night.

A sharp backhand from his Captain snapped the kneeling man's head round with a sickening click, a grimace of pain crossing his face as he lifted his head, blood trickling from one side of his mouth. 

"I would advise ye to talk, matey." A hand tangled in dense, dark, salt-matted hair, jerking the kneeling man's head back. "After all, you wouldn't want to aggravate yer Captain, would ye?"

Brown eyes bored coldly into Barbossa's pale ones, a defiant smile curling Bootstrap Bill Turner's bloodied lips. "Somewhere you'll never find it, Barbossa," he replied, wincing as his arms were wrenched harder behind his back. 

The Captain of the Black Pearl surveyed one of the men he had considered his loyal crew. "Now, ye see, Bill, lad," he sighed, folding his hands behind his back, shaking his head as he paced back and forth in front of Bootstrap Bill. "You know how much we needs that particular trinket, and you will be tellin' us."

"Or what?" Bill grinned, revealing bloody teeth. "You'll kill me?"

"Tell me, blast ye!" An age-spotted hand caught him by the throat, squeezing, but doing nothing than bruise unbreakable flesh.

"Why should I?" Bill demanded roughly. "After what you did, I'm thinking that I will not!"

The sharpened nails of Barbossa's fingers bit into Turner's sea-weathered cheeks with force enough to draw blood. "Ye're cursed as the rest of us, lad," he said, his voice low, deadly. "What mean ye when ye ask why the curse need be broken? Have ye no feelin' in yer body that tells ye yer in Hell right along with the rest of us?"

"We deserve this, you treacherous bastard," Bill's head was snapped around by another blow, jaw and neck both cracking. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he turned to glare blackly at Barbossa. "You instigated us to mutiny! You marooned our true Captain, a good Captain at tha…" 

Another savage blow, this time from behind him, threw Bill forwards, one of his shoulders wrenching free from its socket. Tugged back by one of those that held him, he tilted his head to direct an ice-cold look upon the one who struck him, a massive, dark-skinned brute who answered to no name.

"That wasn't very nice," Spitting a wad of blood on the deck, Bill returned his gaze to Barbossa.

"Then ye'll do the wise thing and be tellin' me what I need to know, Bootstrap."

"No, I'll be doing the right thing and keeping my bloody trap shut, _Captain_," Bill's lip curled in disgust. "I should have spoken up against you when you mutinied and for that, I'll accept my part in this curse."

"Damn you!"

"Too late for that, Barbossa," Bill sneered. "You did it already, for all of us."

A snarl of impotent fury escaped the older pirate. Gesturing to both of them men holding Bill Turner, Barbossa stalked angrily towards the doorway, the rectangle of light leading them up onto the open deck, Bill dragged behind him.

"If ye won't tell us, Bill," Barbossa turned, a wicked look upon his face. "Then perhaps the lives of yer missing missus and brat will be enough to…"

Bill laughed openly. "You'll never find them, Barbossa, not if you spend a lifetime looking."

"Oh?" The Captain made a vain attempt to look chagrined, spreading his hands in a mocking bow. "Now, who be sayin' that, then? Not old Bootstrap, the scoundrel who went and hid away what's rightfully ours? The wretch who condemned us to damnation knows only how many eternities in this form? The man who has given us all the time we need to find his brat. Ye want to stop them from sufferin' a horrible death, ye'll tell us just what we'll be needin' to know."

"Barbossa…" Struggling against the two holding him, Bill's eyes blazed. "I told you, you'll never find them."

"Oh, that be where yer dead wrong, matey," Barbossa chuckled, cold and dead, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Give us time and we'll find them. That is, unless ye want to give us some… insurance that will… prevent any harm in comin' to them."

"The amulet."

"The amulet." Barbossa nodded.

A bloody grin was directed at him, defiance edging the curl of Bill's lip. "You'll never find it, just like you'll never find them. You think I'm stupid enough to hide them somewhere you could find them?"

"So… they're with the amulet, eh? Ye sent them a little… token, did ye?"

The look on Bill's face betrayed his sudden anger and fear, but he masked it quickly and grinned. "Even if I had done such a damn fool thing, you'll never find them. I told you that." His smile was broad, almost convincing, at the ire on Barbossa's face. "No, Captain, you're damned, as are we all and that is how we will stay." His smirk was pronounced. "I'd say this is fitting vengeance on behalf of Jack, wouldn't you?"

With the roar of a wounded bull, Barbossa caught Bill by the arm, jerking him forward, towards one of the smaller canons that lined the deck. "If yer not with us, Bootstrap, then yer against us and I'll be havin' no traitorous wretches like you on me ship!" He slammed Bill bodily against the canon, with enough force to wind him and leave the younger man swaying. "You're bound for Davy Jones'."

"You're crazy, old man," Bill yelled in pain as the men who had been holding him pinned him back over the canon's barrel, holding him fast as his legs were lashed to the base of the immense gun. "If you do this, you'll live to regret it!"

"Ah, no, mate," Barbossa rounded the canon and squatted to look Bill in the eye, his visage swimming – upside down – into the bound pirate's line of sight. "I think I'll treasure this particular memory for a long time. And when we find yer brat and take the little trinket from 'em, I'll remember killin' 'em as well… father and brat… it'll be almost beautiful."

"You won't harm them," Bill snarled, wrestling against his bonds.

"Perhaps I won't," Barbossa replied, taking off his hat and performing a sweeping, mocking bow to the bound pirate. "Or perhaps I will. All that matters, Bill, is that ye won't be there to see it, unless yer watchin' from the fires of Hell…" Stepping back, he waved towards the canon. "Lads, if ye would be so kind as to show Bootstrap here why ye should be true to yer crew…"

"Captain?"

"He has an appointment with Davy Jones, lads. Him and his little trundle wagon."

"Couldn't even stand to do it yourself, eh, Barbossa?" Bill sneered, even as the canon was rolled towards the lip of the deck. He glanced towards the gleaming face of the fading sun, then back at the Captain. "Enjoy your evening," he added. "Looks like it'll be pleasant and clear and a full moon to boot."

"Toss him in the drink, mates!" Barbossa snarled, his voice ugly with hate.

The creak of the decks beneath the canon was the only sound, as Bootstrap Bill Turner was rolled to his fate, the crew strangely silent as the front of the canon dipped forward, towards the waves beneath them.

Looking around at them once more, Bill nodded. "See you in Hell," he cried, before dropping out of sight, the canon and man hitting the water with a resounding splash, as the sun sank over the lip of the horizon. 

Several of the crew rushed to the side, watching as both Bill and the canon sank out of view, his face turned up towards them, a smile still on his lips.

"Stupid blighter," muttered one, shaking his head.

"Good man," added another, as the moon crested into the sky and they were – once more – bathed in the light of the night, flesh melting away into nothing as they faced their curse all over again.


End file.
